Spark of Chaos (Spark of Chaos #1)

Chapter 8

Fog rolled over the land like a slow-moving wave, crashing upon the populace and drowning the sun, tucking darkness firmly into place. It was beneath this chilling cloak of blindness that Isiilde and Marsais returned to the orphanage, seeking warmth and food.

There were over a hundred children in Brinehilde's care. And while the older ones helped with the younger, the orphanage held firmly to the Nuthaanian philosophy of child-rearing: the strongest survived. Brinehilde tried to keep weapons to a minimum, though.

And so Oenghus spent the evening being attacked by a swarm of screaming children attempting to wrestle him to the ground. Isiilde wasn't sure who was enjoying the battle more: her guardian or the children.

As Oenghus struggled with the pint-sized warriors, Marsais escorted Isiilde through his old manor. The building was rife with secret passages and hidden rooms. And as they sifted through his belongings in one forgotten room, she found a little music box. It had a forest of trees carved onto its birch top.

Isiilde opened the box, and a melody leapt into the room. There was a folded piece of parchment inside. Curious, she removed it. A keen-eyed woman with sharp ears looked out from the timeworn sketch.

At the sound of the music, Marsais stilled and closed his eyes.

"It's one of your sketches. Who is she?"

Marsais did not answer. He gently took the parchment from her hand and tucked it back into the box, shutting the lid. With reverent care, he wrapped the box in an old shirt, and placed the bundle in his rucksack.

Isiilde no longer wondered who the woman was.

Later on in the evening, Brinehilde asked Isiilde to calm the children. Her lulling melody drifted through the halls, and the children stumbled off to find their beds.

A blanket of peace settled over the sleeping children. But a rare restlessness kept Isiilde awake. Her stomach ached. She felt strange and unsettled, so she left the warmth of her little room to find Marsais.

Brinehilde was in the kitchens, conversing with one of the older girls as they baked bread. When Isiilde mentioned her ailment, the priestess sent her off with a mug of warm milk.

Isiilde couldn't find Marsais, but she found Oenghus sitting beneath an oak tree on the bank of a pond. The heady scent of tobacco filled the air. Oenghus leaned against the tree, sucking lazily on the long stem of his pipe.

Fog clung to the ground. Its chill knocked her teeth together. She hurried over to her guardian and snuggled beside him for warmth. He draped an arm over her shoulders, tucking her in close.

She watched the fog curl over the pond for a time, then glanced up at Oenghus. His eyes were dim with sadness.

"Are you all right, Oen?" she asked.

"I'm fine, Sprite. I was just thinking," he said lightly, but it was forced. "How 'bout you?"

"Cold," she sighed, sipping her milk. "And my stomach hurts."

"Teach you to eat a basket of chocolates."

"Marsais ate just as many. Do you know where he is?"

"He went back to the tower."

"In the dark?"

"He likes to walk."

"Will he be all right?" The thought of him traveling alone at night sent her heart racing.

Oenghus chuckled, low and rumbling as a bear. "Don't worry about the Scarecrow. He can manage just fine by himself."

"I'm not so sure about that," she murmured, prodding a stick on the ground with her boot.